


They're Usually Cooler than This They Swear

by dreamingKatfish



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: DnD AU, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:07:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27551269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamingKatfish/pseuds/dreamingKatfish
Summary: Dream was getting real sick of dragons at this point. If he didn't have to deal with another one again it would be too soon. At long last drags himself out of the lair once belonging to Claugiyliamatar, but he guesses it now belongs to, fucking what did it say its name was? Chadenseverefit? Chardansearavitriol? Fuck he really doesn't care. He's really not getting paid enough for this.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/Wilbur Soot
Comments: 9
Kudos: 81





	They're Usually Cooler than This They Swear

Dream has certainly had a long day and is more than ready to drop into a bed and sleep for a hundred years. He’s so fucking sick of the  **everything** in this region. But nonetheless, he trudges his way to the train, falling heavy into the seat. Thankfully the fastest trains are reserved for adventures, knights, and that sort. So he doesn’t get any weird glances at the gore and dirt sullening his armor and clothes. To everyone here, it was just another day. Some heading off to meet these quests head-on, others finding themself in the middle going to the next stop, and some like himself finding their way home. Or at least wherever counts as home for tonight. For him, it’s a small inn in Neverwinter. He doesn’t want to think of what tomorrow will bring tonight. 

Eventually, the train pulls in and Dream drags himself into a stand position and shambles his way through the streets and into the inn. Bright conversation and song fill his ears as he wearily falls into a sit at one of the many tables. A waitress long since familiar with the sight of the masked man just asks, “The usual?” And disappears again at the nod of his head. 

Dream drags his eyes across the room while waiting for his food. His eyes catching on the stage where a half-elf man plays. He only pulls his eyes away when the waitress returns with his drink, he quietly thanks her, and then she disappears again. And, weird as it is, his eyes come back to the stage. He chalks it up to being tired and the man being clearly good at his profession. He taps his mug along to the songs the bard plays, a small smile on his face underneath the mask. Dream contemplates tipping the bard if he’s still here after Dream’s done eating. 

Eventually, the waitress comes back with Dream’s food and he pulls his attention away, sure to once again thank the waitress before she disappears again. He pulls his mask up enough to eat. Half paying attention to his food and the other half listening to the songs. The chatter alongside the good music and food fills the air with warmth and Dream is reminded why he continues to travel. Oh sure he has family waiting for him and they’re all he’s ever truly cared about the most, but he could never stay still for long. And he’s glad to be helping others in his travels, even if the quests leave him more than a little sore and beaten. 

In the end, the bard stops playing before Dream finishes eating. The exhaustion hitting him worse now that the music is gone, so he only looks up briefly to clap with everyone else before returning to eating in earnest. But Dream can hear the man shuffling around collecting tips, so at least he can still commend them on a job well done. Except when the bard finally makes his way over to Dream’s table, after going everywhere else first, he doesn’t ask for a tip, just slides into the seat across from Dream instead. 

Dream pulls his eyes up away from his food to look at the performer. “You look like shit mate,” He informs Dream. Dream scoffs and the man continues, “Now hang on, I’m just trying to say that I hope the music could help make your day better. Because it sure looks like you could use the pick me up.” 

Dream sighs, and gives the performer a small smile, “Yeah actually, you’re pretty good. It was nice.”

The bard seemingly puffs up at the compliment, “I’m glad to hear.” He relaxes once more and introduces himself, “You can call me Wilbur.” 

Dream nods, trying to lock the name to the face in his head. Once done he reciprocates, “They call me Dream.”

Wilbur snorts. “Must be some crazy dreams people are having for you to gain a name like that,” he says gesturing to Dream's currently soiled appearance.

And maybe it’s because he’s tired, or maybe it’s because that’s the first time someone didn’t try to use the pick line saying he must look like a ‘dream’ under the mask, or maybe it’s because the joke was actually pretty funny in context, or maybe it’s because Wilbur has the looks to match his performing, or maybe it’s a combination of these. But either way, Dream cracks up laughing, simultaneously glad he uses leather armors not metal ones to avoid drawing further attention to the little corner Dream and Wilbur found themselves in together.

Wilbur’s lips quirk up into an amused smile, “That can’t have been that funny.”

Between wheezing laughter Dream defends himself saying, “Dude you just walked up to me, said I looked like a wreck and pointed out the irony between my name and appearance. I barely even know your name and, clearly, I can kill a man yet you did that anyway.” He meets Wilbur’s eyes behind his mask, a bright smile on his face, just barely visible from where the mask was lifted so he can eat, “It’s hilarious.” 

“Ahhh, I was just hoping that you wouldn’t kill me in front of everyone,” Wilbur admits, a sheepish smile on his face. Though he quickly turns it around to joke, “I’m too pretty to die.” 

Dream huffs out a laugh and puts his head in his hand, “And you call me the mess.”

“Wha- Hey! Rude!” Dream brings his head down in a poor attempt to muffle his laughter as Wilbur rants, “I come all the way over here to check on you to make sure you’re having a good day and this is the thanks I get!?” Dream only laughs harder. “So ungrateful I swear,” Wilbur grumbles. But when Dream glances up Wilbur is smiling softly at him. The expression so unfitting for his tone.

In his weary mind, it damn near knocks the breath from his lungs. The only people that looked at him that softly and genuinely were his family. But here is a complete stranger staring at him as if he held the stars.

His face flushes from under the mask, he pulls it down to completely cover his face again, “I- I gotta go.” Dream hands Wilbur a hefty tip, “Nice job tonight.” He places another large tip on the table for the waitress and practically runs to his room. He ate enough of his dinner anyway. 

Wilbur stares after the other, the gold weighing heavy in his hands. Literally, mind you. It’s a lot of gold, he doesn’t think Dream was very much paying attention when he gave it to Wilbur. But still, did- did he offend Dream somehow? Did he upset the other man? He doesn’t know what happened. One moment he was listening to the delightful sound of Dream’s laughter, the next Dream had stood up and in a blink of an eye, he was gone. Nearly without a goodbye. Wilbur stares at the money, feeling very off balance. He stands on wobbling legs and staggers away from the table towards the inn rooms. He felt drunk but hadn’t had a drop, not tonight. 

That’s never happened before. A dirty mask with a strong jaw faintly visible under it and scarred lips pulled into a large smile as bright wheezing laughter fills the air, it’s a sight that refuses to leave his mind. Teasing words usually never meaning that much. But tonight when they slipped from his lips the blows were softened by warmth usually hidden away. He’s never one to care before. But his heart is pounding and his ears are ringing. And his mind is caught on only one thing, an adventurer who’s green cloth and armor is covered in gore and dirt. Messy was never meant to be his thing.

Dream focuses intently on washing his armor, weapon already cleaned and clothes, well he can always get more later. But still, he can’t help the thoughts of warm brown eyes staring at him that seep in from the corners. A blush permanently taking over his face, forcing him to remove his mask as he was getting too hot. Eventually, he gets all the gore and dirt off and finds himself with nothing left to distract himself. He throws himself onto the bed and slams his face into the pillow, groaning in annoyance at his own thoughts. 

He drags the image through his hands over and over and over again trying to decipher it. Refusing to believe anyone could care so genuinely for someone they just met. But as much as paranoia and anxiety scream at him, he knows it wasn’t fake. Wilbur genuinely cared. And Dream has no idea what the fuck to do about that. He screams into the pillow, but the action doesn’t give him any answers. He rolls over and stares at the ceiling, blushing having climbed up to his ears and down his neck. He slams the pillow over his face and screams again. At least it makes him feel marginally better about this whole mess. 

He cycles through people in his family that he could try to take advice from. George and Sapnap are immediately off the table. Bad is iffy, but he’s too trusting. Ant maybe? He does have Red staring at him softly like Wilbur was staring at Dream. Except now he’s making assumptions and- he just starts screaming into the pillow again. None of this is really helping because his face is still a tomato and he- oh fuck. He literally ran away from Wilbur. Could he have made a bigger fool of himself!? He’s usually so much cooler than this. 

Eventually, the exhaustion catches up with him before the answers can and he falls asleep like that. Hoping to every deity that things will be clear when he awakes. 

**Author's Note:**

> I guess if you want content you gotta make it yourself.


End file.
